


Bones heal faster than brains

by Littlenerdyemo



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Bus, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hospital Visit, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Small Towns, the bus is kinda important, they meet at a bus station
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-04 14:03:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20472248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Littlenerdyemo/pseuds/Littlenerdyemo
Summary: Evan lives in a small town. He knows everyone in it, and could recite everyone's bus station in his sleep.Then, in the middle of the school year, a new guy named Connor who paints his nails and is probably the only other senior without a car, sits down next to Evan.





	Bones heal faster than brains

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Dear Evan Hansen or the characters. They belong to Steven Levenson.

The rain hits the bus station's roof mercilessly, slipping through the cracks between the walls to wet the seats and the few unfortunate seniors who didn't own a car, holding onto the thin hope that the old roof will shelter their books from water damage, despite its failure to do so in all the days that preceded this one.

The music flows through Evan's earphones, stopping abruptly only to flare up the next second, before again succumbing to the fact that the earphones have been sat on one-too-many times, and you cannot keep an electronic device working by the sheer power of will.

"Anyone sitting here?"

Without waiting for an answer, or apologizing for wasting the precious seconds when the earphones had finally produced actual voices over the static – they're back to their original battered state already - for the first time in years, the seat next to Evan is taken.

Evan looks the stranger over curiously.

His whole life, Evan spent studying people; it started as a simple exercise to help him remember names, but as the years went by Evan found that there are much more useful things to remember than how people referred to themselves.  
Now Evan remembers peoples "tell" when they are annoyed with him, and how to differentiate between conversations that started because the speaker was genuinely interested in Evan's life and conversations that started because Evan has been sitting motionlessly on the couch for the last two hours and they wanted the make-out space (which was easy, because no one beside his mom was ever interested in the former.)

Evan remembers who wouldn't mind sitting next to him at the front of the bus (Evan's stop was second to last, so going all the way to the back with everyone's eyes fixed on him was terrifying), and who would make him move.

Evan even memorized everyone's stop, just in case there will someday be a new driver and people will turn to Evan for directions, because Evan always sits at the front.

But this guy is new. Evan has never seen this guy.

"Did you want anything?" asks the guy, raising his brows. He either doesn't notice, or doesn't care, about Evan's earphones.

Suddenly, Evan is glad they aren't working, because he seems like the kind of guy that wouldn't hesitate ripping other people's earphones out their ears.

"Nothing – Nothing at all!" Evan stammers; a little too quickly, maybe. Great, now this guy will think he is totally hiding something.

The stranger raises his brows just a little higher.

"It's just", Evan hurriedly explains; maybe he can make this guy believe that's just the way he talks.

"I've been riding this line for about ten years now", he says, "and I've never seen you around here."

Was that intimidating? Wonders Evan, and then, oh no, he absolutely butchered the delivery of that line. That _did_ come out intimidating.

Now this guy will think Evan is some kind of freak who has a problem with new people; which Evan does, but not like that –

The stranger smiles. He's got a handsome sort of smile, but it looks like it hasn't been used in years.

"We moved here a week ago. Larry wanted us to finish the first semester in LA", he says, and sticks out his hand. It's surprisingly delicate compared to the rest of him; he even wears nail polish. "I'm Connor. You?"

"Evan Hansen", Evan replies automatically, before realizing Connor only gave him his first name. Maybe he didn't want them to be on a last name basis and Evan just made things weird.

Evan discreetly wipes his hand on his khakis; at least, he's hoping he's being discreet about it. Evan generally despises handshakes; his hands are always sweaty and gross and he always feels like he's spreading his disgusting, anxiety-ridden germs everywhere on the other person (and tries not to think about the things that might be living on the other person's hands.)

He shakes Connor's hand; just for a moment, before the germs can spread and the bus is already here. Connor's hand is already gone, but Evan's hand continues to be warm all through first period.

"Y'know, I forgot to ask about your class", says Connor. School has just ended, and they're sitting on the stone bench that's somehow always just an inch too short to be comfortable, no matter if Evan is in fifth grade or twelve.

"You're a sophomore, right?"

"I'm a senior, actually." Evan wonders if he really looks that young, or if that's some new type of insult.

"Oh."

Connor is silent for a moment. Evan thinks he might have offended him somehow.

"You must be in the other class then, huh?"

It's a small town and an even smaller school, because anyone who's anything goes to the school the next town over. There are two classes in each grade; ninth has only one.

"Yeah", says Evan. "With your twin. Zoe, right?"

"Oh, she's not my twin." Says Connor. "my parents just really couldn't wait another couple of months before getting it on."

"Wait, seriously?"

"Nah, I'm just messing with you."

Evan chuckles nervously. Connor nudges him with his knee, but Evan doesn't know how to respond. Nudge back? Kick his foot? What if it was an accident?

"If you're twins", he says, "why doesn't she ride on the same bus with us?"

"She has a car", says Connor.

"Why doesn't she offer you a ride?" why don't _you_ have one?

"We don't get along." He says, and Evan gets the feeling he best leave it at that.

The days pass with the consistency of an old piece of gum, sticky and lumpy yet somehow stone-hard.

They're like pages in an old calendar, glued together with time and water spots that have dried long ago. Evan tries to recall the last days that have passes since Connor moved into their town, and finds that weeks have passed already.

Connor isn't at the stop yet. It's nearly empty today; there's a nasty flu going around this part of the neighborhood, and Evan has the sneaking suspicion that its cause has something to do with alcohol. Namely, the single bottle of scotch that got passed around Jared's group of friends at the party that Evan was invited to; out of Pity, of course. He left when he realized it was just an excuse to get drunk, and not even a well concealed one.

"You're late!" he shouts toward the nearing figure.

"I know", says Connor, and jokingly blows him a kiss.

In hindsight, he should have seen it coming. But Evan never thought to connect the sound of the bus with the actual thing.

The hospital is blindingly white; harsh lights and spotless walls that would usually comfort Evan now seem menacing, surreal.

He spent most of his childhood between these walls, doodling on napkins and his own hands while waiting for his mom's shifts to end. He always used up the paper in minutes, making airplanes out of it and then refusing to straighten them out and draw. He had probably made hundreds of airplanes in total; he never thought to ask his mom where she had kept them all. Now that Evan is older, he realizes she must have simply been throwing them away.

"You're here to see Connor Murphy?" an unfamiliar nurse in blue uniform leads him; it's more for the sake of hospital etiquette than for showing him the way. Evan's willing to bet he knows it better than her.

"You're here." It's not a question, but Evan answers anyway. "Of course."

Evan comes every day. Connor asks every day. Like he can't believe Evan still cares.

Evan wonders if Connor's parents visit nearly as often. His signature on Connor's cast is still the only one; it's been two weeks.

"Did they take that stupid sign off yet?"

"No."

In a show of the worst taste Evan has ever seen, the school board had decided to hang a sign with Connor's name and picture, and a huge blank space to fill with "get well" wishes and other nice things.

Evan has never seen a bigger collection of "Faggot" and crude drawings of the male genitalia in one place; except, maybe, on his own locker in seventh grade.

Even the picture is disastrous, like most other yearbook photos. Evan has yet to come across a single one where his smile didn't look like the jocker's.

When Evan showed Connor the sign for the first time, he laughed so hard a nurse came to shoo Evan away; "he has cracked ribs! He shouldn't put them through any sort of strenuous activity for at least another month!"

The next day Connor told him, quietly, that he was glad they printed such a bad picture of him.

"I can pretend it's Zoe, and she's just really, really ugly under all that makeup."

"It says Condor, though." To add insult to injury, they misspelled Connor's name on his own giant, school-wide get-well sign.

"Well, I can always say I have an evil twin."

"I thought YOU were the evil twin." Evan from a month ago would have never dared to say that kind of thing to anyone. Evan of today watches as Connor fondly chuckles.

"Probably why I got ran over."

He delivers it flatly; not like it's a joke, but a fact. Like he really believes he deserved to get hit by that bus.

Another piece falls into place in Evan's mind.

"Why don't you have a car?" asks Evan.

"Larry thought that getting three cars for one family was excessive", says Connor. He always calls him Larry; never dad.

"But Zoe has one, right?"

"What happened to your car, Connor?" Asks Evan.

When he doesn't reply, Evan says again, louder, "why did you step in front of that bus?"

"How did you know?" Connor won't meet his eyes.

"because I tried to once, too." Says Evan. "Not with a bus", he adds quickly."

I didn't want to inconvenience anyone, so I climbed a tree". He chuckles bitterly. "I reached about – three stories high, I think. I was too scared to climb any higher, so I jumped. Ended up breaking my arm and that's it. Had to walk myself to the hospital."

Not even his mom knew he tried to kill himself that day.

"I had a car", Connor says at last. "Well, I shared it with Zoe, but it was mostly mine. Then one day someone told me something really stupid; I think it was about me having the hair of a potential school shooter or some dumb shit like that. And it stuck. I was in a really bad place that week; I think it was the exam season that did it, but suddenly I hated everyone even more than usual. I smoked too much, and I knew where my dad's gun was, and I kept thinking: What if one day I got too high, too angry? What if one day I _did it_?

And then one day I got stoned before school, like some kind of idiot; Zoe could smell it on me, and she told mom, and Larry got pissed too, so they let Zoe drive. And I kept trying to grab the wheel from her hands, and she kept yelling at me, and we hit another car.

We both came out fine, somehow, and Zoe kept crying, and my parents never let me drive again. Even when I have to take a car somewhere, they make me sit in the backseat, like I'm gonna try again."

Evan is speechless. Connor cracks a dry smile.

"I stepped in front of the bus because it was easy. Because we moved into a house where I didn't have a door, because we became a family where my sister thinks I might murder her in her sleep, and she might be _right_. Because we came here for a second chance but everything's exactly the same, only the school is smaller and people are meaner and the weed is shittier."  
He takes a breath slowly, deeply. Like he hardly believes he still can. "Because I'm a fucked-up person and no matter how hard I try, I don't change."

"You don't scare me", says Evan.

"well, I should." Says Connor.

"I think about it less", says Evan. The tan lines from his own cast are nearly gone; soon, no one will be able to tell they were ever there. "I got a therapist, and I – I didn’t get well, but I got better. I no longer treat every day like the day I die."

"It's not that easy", says Connor.

"Of course it's not", says Evan. He of all people should know. "But will you at least try?"

"I – fine", says Connor.

"But don't expect any miracles from me."

"I won't", promises Evan. Because he knows it's a lot to ask. Because some days, he looks at his bottle of pills and thinks of swallowing them all at once. Because some days he wonders what life would be like if he stepped in front of that bus instead of Connor.

But other days he can talk with his mom and not feel like he's wasting her time. Other days, he can pay for his groceries – in the self-checkout station – without worrying he's holding the whole line. Other days, he's happy, he's calm – he's normal, or something in the immediate proximity of that.

"Come here for a sec," says Connor. He looks at Evan with a sort of incredulous expression, the one he wears whenever Evan walks through his door.

"What?" says Evan suspiciously.

"Just do it, come on", says Connor.

"I can't exactly stand up and walk to you, now can I?" he adds, and Evan guiltily stands up from his chair, coming to sit on the edge of Connor's bed.

"Lean closer", whispers Connor. "It's important." His lips look soft. Evan wonders where he managed to find Chapstick in the middle of a hospital.

And then Connor tries to sit up, the few inches of space he can manage without moving his very breakable ribs and alerting the nurse, and Evan's breath catches in his throat.

He's going to kiss me, he realizes, belatedly, when Connor's warm skin ghosts the shell of his ear.

"Boo!" Connor says, loudly, and Evan jumps. "You ASS –"

Connor laughs, grabs his face with his healthy hand, and kisses him for real.

"I'll be out soon", promises Connor when they part, leaning back down on his pillows. Laying all day must be tiring, thinks Evan, but with a fond sort of edge.

"I'll wait", says Evan.

"I'll see a therapist", Connor promises. "I don't care if Larry thinks I'm faking it."

"Hey, what about yours?" Connor makes grubby motions towards Evan's phone. "We can be therapist-buddies."

"Nope. She's taken, get your own", he laughs, but forwards the number to Connor.

In the end, doctor Sherman remains exclusively Evan's; Connor's is a guy named Lewinski, who has the name of a seventy year old but is actually a five year old in a grown-up's body.

He's the type that shoots Connor with a nerf gun whenever he says bad things about himself and tells him to "yeet" the bad thoughts away.

"If I'd known that's all you needed to feel better, I would have bought a nerf gun years ago", says Evan jokingly. "He's great, though." Says Connor. "It – weirdly, but I swear – it helps".

Improvement is a curve, not a straight line upwards; there are bad days, too.

Connor pushes Jared into a locker over one of his jokes. One of Evan's classmates answers his call to the pizzeria, and Evan goes to bed hungry. Connor gets caught with a bag of weed in his room. Evan has a panic attack during a test.

And there are regular days. There are days when they do homework together and Connor makes a song out of the math problems and they laugh hard and clear because there's no nurse to tell them that they can't. There are days when they sit next to each other on the bus and Evan lets someone else direct the new driver to the next stop. There are days when they go to the orchard and they climb trees and carefully climb back down, and they chase each other and kiss and compare tan lines and kiss a little bit more.

And time is like calendar pages, glued together with time and water spots that have already dried. And when Evan tries to recall the weeks that have passed since Connor moved into their town, he finds that months has already gone by.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Dear Evan Hansen fic, so drop a comment if you liked it!  
Originally this was a short story I wrote last year, and now, two months into my Dear Evan Hansen phase I thought: whoa, with some tweaking, this could make a really good tree bros fic! So that's what I did. only some tweaking turned into a lot, and a story that was originally 900 words is now over three times that


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